


Strange & Familiar

by Areiton



Series: Strange/Familiar [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Dylan O'Brien accident, Filming, First Kiss, Growing Up, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 13:12:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11898444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: The thing is--it’s not the smile he gives the world, the one that’s wide and open and blinding. This smile is small, reserved and pleased, almost shy, like he’s startled by Dylan but happy too. It's a strange expression on a familiar face and he falls just a little more, every time he sees it.





	Strange & Familiar

**Author's Note:**

> FREAKING FINALLY! I'm sorry for the delay, lovelies!!! Come yell at me in the comments, if you want! :)

He  _ likes _ Tyler. Its different from the way he is with Posey--that’s  _ easy _ , effortless. With Posey, he can shut down, turn off his always racing thoughts, turn off the sometimes crippling fear of what others are thinking. He needs Posey for that. 

But Tyler. 

Tyler is different. He's...bigger. 

Big body soft with contentment, big smile warm with affection, big brain bursting with things to share, big heart that's never turned anyone away. 

When he thinks of Tyler Hoechlin, which he thinks he does more than is probably safe, he thinks of too big. Maybe that's why it's always felt like Tyler has been eclipsing him.

Posey is easy and safe and, Dylan loves him, he does but it's simple. 

Tyler isn't easy. He is the furthest thing from simple. And when he smiles, wide and warm and real, Dylan thinks he's never seen anyone so dangerous. 

He falls in love without ever meaning to, a slow slip over nights quiet on their couch and cooking together, of stealing books and socks and food and space, of jokes and laughter and long days and short tempers. He falls in love without his own permission or knowledge, easing into it so naturally that he's gone, completely lost on this big beautiful man before he even thinks that he could like him. 

The thing about Tyler. The thing that makes him different from Posey’s adolescent humor or Crystal’s quiet shy reserve, or even Holland’s sharp sarcasm--the thing that draws Dylan first, is how  _ good  _ at this he is. 

How effortlessly he slips into and out of his role, how different Derek is from Hoechlin. 

It's fascinating.

Dylan gets that this is hero worship, a new kid in a new career looking up to his talented, experienced costar. 

Except that it's different from how he looks at JR or Linden or Ian. He respects them, of fucking course he does, but he doesn't look at them and feel the same stir of awe and intimidation. 

It doesn't last, that first blush of awe because when you see a guy drunk and dancing with a lamp, hungover and throwing up, snorting milk red faced with laughter, sleep soft and dumb--it's hard to keep someone on a pedestal when they're that human.

But Dylan doesn't mind that shine rubbing away, because it leaves something real and  _ better _ in its wake, it leaves the Tyler that grins wide and boyish and steals his heart. 

And it fucking terrifies him. Because Hoechlin, he  respects and he wants to soak up his experience. And he doesn't know how to love him, and not ruin this. 

He knows he's a kid, painfully young next to Hoechlin, not just in years, but in experience and it's this  _ thing _ hanging over him, that makes it hard to talk and his smile stilted when Hoechlin drags him into a discussion discussion about the Mets and collegiate sports and everything wrong with it and when Hoechlin tips his head back and laughs, that big wide thing he gives the world, it’s not like you can actually stay distant, it’s impossible to resist that smile, so Dylan grins back, a little shy and bashful and Hoechlin nudges him with his knee as he settles deeper into the couch and if he can’t breath for a moment, that’s no one’s business but his own. 

It’s hard to love someone silently, when they are  _ there _ constantly, murmuring a good morning over coffee on set and leaving his script and socks and earbuds in Dylan’s space, when he can barge into Dylan’s room with barely a cursory knock, to plop down on Dylan’s bed, grinning, with a YouTube video already playing and he’s giggling, fucking  _ giggling _ as he grins at the video and plays it for Dylan. 

It’s fucking impossible to get over someone. 

Some days, Dylan doesn’t think he wants to get over Hoechlin. He’s happy like this. There are girls, of course, he fools around with, one he even dates semi-serious for a while, but it doesn’t mean anything, it’s just a game, and every time, he circles back to Hoech, crashes on his couch, and in his life, and Hoechlin just smiles. 

The thing is--it’s not the smile he gives the world, the one that’s wide and open and blinding. This smile is small, reserved and pleased, almost shy, like he’s startled by Dylan but fucking happy too. It's a strange expression on a familiar face and he falls just a little more, every time he sees it. 

When the accident happens, everything changes. 

The whole world seems to know and filming shuts down, and he feels the weight of that like a living thing, like the hopes and dreams of the cast and crew are on him and how the fuck did he screw this up, how does he pull his shit together to get back out there and finish the goddamn movie, when all he wanted was to hide from everything? 

It didn’t help that everyone treated him different, a kind of cautious handling that had him gritting his teeth and swallowing screams 

Except that Hoechlin didn’t. He texted, a short hope you’re ok. Worried about you. And when Dylan latched on, sent him back a quick thanks, I’m fine, how the hell have you been, Hoech took him at his word and they fell into this easy back and forth, texting about everything and nothing, between shooting and binge watching bad tv and it became the highlight of his day, seeing his phone light up and Hoech’s quiet commentary on his life, and the undisguised interest in Dylan’s. 

The problem was even when he thought about it, used the distance--because there was distance, and he could do it, fall out of love--claw his way out of love--find someone new to care about. 

But whenever he thought about it, he ended up staring at the jokes and stats, the quiet bitching and photos and he would see that stupid goddamn smile, the tiny one he thought of as his. 

And he forgot that he wanted to move on because how do you move on when you’ve got something perfect? And when you’ve got something perfect, maybe it’s selfish to think of asking for more. 

That doesn’t stop him from showing up at Tyler’s place, wired and worried, buzzing with nerves because American Assassin would begin shooting soon and he knew everything was going to change. 

Hoechlin watched him with patient eyes as he wandered restless through the house and onto the beach, and he calms Dylan with beer and quiet, until the spinning in his mind eased and he could breath without the fear of fucking failing everyone again. 

Hoech wished him goodnight at the guest bedroom door and he wanted to catch his friend’s hand, lace their fingers together, draw him into the bed and down over him. 

Instead he nodded and smiled and let him go. 

When a nightmare woke him, Dylan crept from his bed and peeked into Tyler’s room, and there was a soft mumble, something that almost sounded like his name, and it drew him close to the bed. 

Hoechlin stretched out and sleeping in the moonlight was devastatingly gorgeous and he sighed softly. Ran a finger over Hoech’s shoulder before he started to turn away. 

“Stay, Dyl,” Hoechlin said, sleep slurry, eyes closed. 

He’d loved Tyler silently for years and never once been offered this, would never be offered this again. 

He stayed, slipping into bed and the other man curled around him, a sweet heavy warmth. It’s perfect. It’s everything he’s wanted. Until Tyler wakes and crawls out of bed without a word, avoid Dylan’s eyes in the kitchen, even his smile forced and unnatural. 

Leaving for filming feels less daunting, with this hanging between them. 

But then, when he’s back, he thinks it’ll be ok. They’ll be ok. Holland calls and he drags himself to a party with the other, and Hoechlin is there, and it’s like that night never happened, everything wide and happy and big and he aches with it, with want. 

So he dances, presses against Posey on the dance floor and he can feel the tension in the air that isn’t just the club. 

“He’s watching you,” Posey yells in his ear and he rolls his eyes and grins, gives in to the seductive lure of the song, and dismisses the words as ridiculous. 

Tyler never watches him. 

Except when he glances back--

He is. 

And something in Dylan stills. Freezes. 

Because he knows what that look is, that one he’s seen on his own face so many times, the one he can feel on his face now. 

Want. Sadness. 

His heart flips and he fights his way free of the dancers, shouting, but it’s drowned out, drowned out by the music and the crowd. 

He slips outside in time to see Tyler duck into a cab and the whispered plea dies before it’s heard. 

 

Hoechlin’s house is quiet, the lights off. Dylan walks up with nerves churning in his gut as he let’s himself in, and slips through the house quietly. 

He can see Hoech sitting on the beach, and he smiles a little. He’s too drunk to be quiet, and too sober to be unsure and he drops onto the beach next to Hoechlin like he belongs there, and maybe. 

Maybe that’s the truth. 

Maybe they belong near each other, always. 

“What’re you doing here?” Hoech says and his voice is fond, so fond and affectionate it makes Dylan ache. 

He’s loved this bastard for years, and it feels so big, too big to fit into words, but he tries. He shrugs and grins and says, “I wanted to kiss you. But you left.” 

Hoechlin is staring at him, his eyes wide and startled and Dylan twists, comes up on his knees, settles in his lap and he’s not as small as he was when they met, he’s older and taller, heavier with muscle from filming, but they fit together, just like he always thought they would, and Tyler’s eyes are blown wide as his hands land on Dylan’s hips. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, pressing the question to the curve of Hoechlin’s jaw, and it’s rough, the stubble scraping and drawing a shiver from  Dylan. 

He pulls back just a little and sees Hoechlin’s smile, before they’re kissing, and it hits him, before he’s lost in the sensation, that it’s strange. Seeing something so small on a man who has always seemed so big, to Dylan.

A tiny smile. Strange and familiar. 


End file.
